Little Things
by binnibeans
Summary: Being the girlfriend of a soldier is a difficult thing, but the best part is when you can finally hold them in your arms, at last.


**A/N:** For **usxuk**'s Summer Camp event! I need to tell you that a. this features female America, b. you should Youtube Elvis Presley's _Always on My Mind_, and c. ... I can't remember.

Day 05: Military

_Any sector of the armed forces is welcome here, from both the US and the UK. Whether it's America and England in uniform, in combat, attending a military observance, or in another military role, everything is welcome. Military from ANY era is okay._

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><p>As it was the middle of summer, it was hot. Unfortunately, it was unnaturally hot for the London suburb, and it was especially unnaturally hot in the baseball diamond where sat a small group of probably 7 women. Trains were shut down, shops closed early—many had even given up tea for the day! To Emily Jones, this was a rather amusing happenstance, as it was naturally much hotter in her home state of Texas during the summer. To her, heat was something she could easily handle.<p>

What she was having trouble with was life in England.

Almost five years ago, Emily had met a man in downtown Dallas. He was English, had mousy hair, the most charming accent she'd heard since she'd visited New Orleans, and the most … rad set of eyebrows she'd ever seen on a man. Of course, it wasn't love at first sight. She'd spent the better part of half an hour making fun of his eyebrows, then was told, "You might consider covering your midriff; such a display of skin is appalling and unbecoming of a young woman."

…And that started their relationship of trading insults. At first they were meant to stab, but over time they were more … endearments to the other. Finally they'd started going to parties together (_those _were some adventures, especially when he, Arthur was his name, got drunk), and became friends, then finally something more than friends.

It was when they started officially dating that Arthur broke the news to Emily. He'd recently enlisted in the British Royal Army, and would be leaving for England in the next several weeks. Emily had been furious that he'd waited to tell her, but it was all a giant misunderstanding between them. She avoided him for three days until finally her brother Matthew convinced her to get over it. (Her words—not his.)

Excited and with a smile on her face, Emily forgave Arthur (to which he just gave her a look, and was interrupted when he went to correct her). She'd begun showing him the papers she needed to fill out to live and work in the United Kingdom, and went on about dual citizenship because, "There is no way I'm renouncing my US citizenship."

And so that was where she was now, several years later, in London, England. Arthur was on tour, _again_, in Afghanistan, while she took a break from cleaning and hanging around their flat singing and dancing to old Elvis Presley albums. Emily missed Arthur greatly, staying up some nights reading his books. (She'd found a secret stash of Austen and Brontë novels, and small assortments of other romance-heavy literature. She'd read them all by now.) Other days she might just pout at the ceiling, hugging the teddy bear he'd gotten her before he'd left after his last leave (way too long ago), and some days she might hold his clothing to her to inhale what scent of him remained on it when she didn't receive any word from him for a while. As of that evening, it had been nearly half a year since she'd last received anything from him; a letter, an email, a call—anything. She never cried, though. It worried her deep down, and made her wonder if maybe she didn't love him as much as she thought she had, but she pushed that poison out of her mind as quickly as she could. (Much of the reason rested with when he _had_ last been home. They'd gotten into _quite _the fight before he was redeployed; not enough to not be sad, but certainly enough to eat at both of their hearts.)

Then she found the small baseball team set up by one of the local ladies. Her name was Kiku. She was from Japan and while she didn't have a loved one in the British army, she sympathized with those who did and started the club. It was a way for the wives and girlfriends of soldiers, airmen and the like to relax, talk, have fun, and release their stress. They had only two small teams, and the line-up changed with each monthly game. Eventually the idea had grown across the area and a year and a half previous, 'official' teams were made, comprised of women associated with the British armed forces: Wives, girlfriends, sisters, nieces—even best friends. True, baseball wasn't a very common pastime in England, but when Kiku managed to convince Emily to help spread the news ("It's something like cricket! You like cricket, right?"), they'd accomplished what they'd set out to do. The teams remained somewhat local, though, and even sometimes had clips of news in the post. Sometimes there were special events, like donations for the men and women abroad, or for local charities. It was fun, and Emily was grateful for the distraction.

That day, though, they'd played only a few innings in the evening. The plan was that after the game, a handful of the ladies would shower and would go for dinner to a nice restaurant. (Unfortunately, in all of her time in England, Emily had yet to find one restaurant that served anything … edible … save the McDonald's she'd so gloriously found one random day.) No one knew where (except Kiku, apparently, who had picked out the individual women), but they all sat in their cleaned-up dug out in semi-formal wear with makeup touched up on their eyes and lips. It was unusual, though. The crowd, which was a bit larger than usual, had remained and Emily could almost feel the estrogen levels rising around her. They couldn't see anything; the only lights lit in their little field were focused on the crowd, but as Kiku came to sit next to Emily, the screeching of a microphone sounded through speakers Emily didn't even know they had. She winced, gnashing her teeth together, and shook away the shiver that had gripped her and the other ladies.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, though mostly ladies…._"

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><p>Arthur was nervous. He could handle stress; he had to, in the military, but this was….<p>

This was one of the most monumental missions he'd ever been a part of. He'd been back in England for a few days, had gone through his debriefing just a few hours ago, stopped by a jeweler, and now here he stood. His beret was currently being twisted in his hands, and he kept chewing on his bottom lip for lack of anything else to chew. He was in the dark, unable to see anything but the crowd that couldn't see them.

"Best settle down, mate, 'fore yeh work off th'fabric," the man next to him whispered.

Arthur's hands stopped their wringing and he hurriedly shoved it back on to his head. "I was just fixing a kink out of it!" he hissed.

There was a screeching sound that screamed up his spine and curled his fingers and toes, but it passed soon enough. (Having lived with the possibility of surprise and fright, he supposed he would have to let it pass quickly.) The announcer was saying something, but Arthur wasn't focusing on that. He was busy trying not to shuffle around too much.

Another sound echoed onto the field just a moment later, and lights shone on the dugout and just in front of it. He couldn't make many of the people out, but he knew…. He knew Emily was there. It looked like there was some shuffling going on and the girls came out, standing beneath the light. As soon as she had stepped up, Arthur saw her.

Her hair was still kept a bit less than shoulder length, and she was still wearing the barrettes he'd bought and sent to her a few years ago. Her eyes were wide and inquisitive, and still as blue as the last time he'd seen them. A wide smile spread slowly on his face, and he looked down, trying hard to push the burning sensation away from his eyes. He could only just vaguely hear something being said, but his mind was too busy buzzing around, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd _enjoyed _his adrenaline rushing through him like this.

He was nudged out of his reverie by the soldier next to him. "Your name," he whispered, handing down a microphone to him.

Arthur stared at it for a moment, then opened his mouth to speak. "A-A—Arthur Kirkland." He glanced up at the women, immediately finding Emily. She stood there, her mouth just slightly agape, like the rest of the women. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes of hers were opening wider, and wider. He was fixated on her, and he grinned. There was some shuffling going on next to him, the sound of which he knew all too well. With a few short movements and with almost no trouble removing the emotion from his face, Arthur made to stand at ease just in time for spotlights to shine down on him and the several other soldiers.

The women, most of them, began covering their mouths, while other's continued to just stare.

Emily continued to stare, even as the people in the stands began whooping and hollering. Flashes were going off everywhere, and Arthur and the other men took this as their cue to relax, and which the ladies across the field took as their cue to run forward.

Arthur caught Emily's gaze, and the rest of the world seemed to disappear. He heard, nor saw, nothing else but himself and Emily. Arthur offered her a tentative grin, and Emily looked to purse her lips while her nose looked to scrunch up a little.

Then she was running.

Her skirt somehow, magically, managed to stay down as she rushed forward in her trainers—only Emily would see nothing wrong with wearing trainers with a nice skirt for a formal event—and her arms stretched in front of her, as if racing herself to reach Arthur. Smile growing once again, Arthur opened his arms, bracing himself. Emily didn't look to be smiling. Her lips were still pulled taught, and her eyes looked to be gleaming just a little bit.

Just four feet away, Emily leapt up, flinging her arms around Arthur's neck and pressing her face into his shoulder as he secured his arms around her waist. He stepped back some from the inertia as he allowed himself to bury his face to her neck. She wasn't wearing perfume, and she didn't need it. She just somehow naturally smelled of every sweet thing he knew; he set her down some, though didn't let her go as a hand came up to comb through her pillow-soft hair. He hummed a little bit, and that sound was just enough to make Emily sniff, sniff again, whimper, and then finally let out a sob. The sound made Arthur's eyes burn again, just a little.

"E-Emily…?"

Emily held on tighter, crying a little harder as her fingers gripped his uniform for dear life.

"Come now, I can't see you if you keep your face away from me."

"Mnuknghhfugnnng!"

"…I couldn't decipher a word of that."

Emily pulled back some, and Arthur looked into her (glaring?) eyes up close for the first time. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, even if she had mascara rubbed around her eyes, now, her rouge just a little blotched. "I said I'm never letting you go again, dummy!"

Arthur grinned, knowing exactly what was coming.

"You haven't called, written, or anything'd me in _six months_! I haven't heard _anything _from you, or from your superiors, or—! Or anything!"

"I wasn't able—!"

"I'm not finished!" As she continued, she kept crying. "I've been sitting all alone in that apartment for over a year, now; at least I had your letters to read, but then they just stopped c-coming! H-how am I s'pposed to know if—if you're ok-kay or not?"

"Emily…." Arthur reached his hand out to hold the side of her face, his thumbing gently rubbing at her temple as she kept crying, uselessly wiping her tears away. Arthur studied her more intensely. Her eyelashes shined with her tears, and although her makeup was beyond repair, her skin still looked and felt as soft as silk. He counted each and every freckle on her face, no matter how faint, remembering each and every one that decorated her cheeks, and the bridge of her nose. Her hands now wore calluses (from the baseball, he figured) but it only added to her beauty. He pulled her close again. Her arms wrapped around his torso while he held her in his arms, gently rubbing the small of her back. He made a few shushing noises, pressing a kiss or two to the top of her head as she slowly worked her crying down.

It was then, though, that Arthur couldn't stop himself. Finally he let his own tears start falling, and he gripped Emily just a little tighter. It was overwhelming. He'd known he was finally home for days, but it was only now, as he held Emily, that he'd finally understood that … he was _home_.

"You are…" he began softly. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

He felt her face heat up on his chest. "You don't tell me that very often."

"It—it's generally implied, isn't it?"

"Well yeah, but you could say it more often!"

Arthur chuckled, feeling the tears continue to slide down his face. As they fell, they landed on Emily's shoulder, and back, catching her attention. She pulled back some, making an, "Uh-oh…" face at the front of Arthur's uniform before looking up. She appeared shocked, then her gaze lightened, becoming something more empathetic.

"You're crying, Artie."

"I am not."

She smiled something wide. "Liar," she giggled. She reached her hand up, wiping his tears away, then blushed a little before standing on her toes to press a kiss to Arthur's lips.

Arthur felt warmth flash throughout him. A warmth he'd thought some days he would never again feel. It was the most pleasant burn he could ever suffer. He kissed her back harder, his mind a complete buzz of white noise. More tears formed and fell from both sets of closed eyes and when they parted, their lips still as close as they could be without touching, they both chuckled a little bit.

"You're home."

"I am."

Emily stared at him intensely, her eyes still shining with so many tears. "I love you."

Arthur cracked a smile, reaching his hand into his pocket to grab what he'd picked up at the jeweler. "Emily Jones."

Whatever had been going through Emily's head (likely something akin to, "Say it back, already!") seemed to have frozen as if she knew what was about to happen. (Did women have a sixth sense for this?)

"I spent what seemed like eternity in a place I thought I knew about, but turned out … I didn't know nearly as much as I thought I did. I had my friends with me, of course, but one thing was always missing." (Emily's hands formed weak, trembling fists at her sides.) "I know that … perhaps before I left, I … hadn't treated you quite as good as I should have, and I said things I shouldn't have, and didn't say _what_I should have." (Emily had gone pale, the color slowly returning with a hot vengeance.) "What I do say…. I guess I never tell you how happy I am that you're mine—at least, not very often, and if I make you feel like … like you're second best, then…. W-well, you're not! You're not second, or third, or anything but first." (Emily giggled a little, sniffling.) "In Afghanistan, you were always, always on my mind, and I hope that … that maybe you can forgive me, and give me the chance to make sure you're always happy, and satisfied.

"Emily…."

She choked out a sob as Arthur knelt down to one knee, and pulled the box out of his pocket. He knew his face was red; he could feel it, easily. He looked up to see her looking down at her feet, her hand covering her face as her fingers spidered into her hair.

"Will you marry me?"

Emily didn't move for a few moments after Arthur opened the box. The ring wasn't anything too magnificent, nor was it the most expensive, but it was simple, and beautiful, and it would complement Emily wonderfully. …If she would answer.

She finally looked at Arthur with a very large, toothy smile on her face. "Arthur Kirkland, you are the biggest dork I know."

"I prefer the term—"

"Romanticist, I know." She sniffed, still smiling and trying hard not to cry. Arthur knew he should be nervous, but it was impossible. "You practically recited that song…."

"I did."

Emily nodded her head, then paused. She sniffed, and nodded again, a little more vigorously. "Y-yes. Yes, I will!"

It took a moment, but the words finally processed themselves properly in Arthur's head, and something happily snapped, or clicked, or something. Arthur didn't know what it was exactly, but he was ecstatic about it. His hands were trembling as he took the ring from the box and after pocketing the box, he had to force himself to steady his hands to slide the ring onto Emily's finger. Once on, he stood up, only to be tackled by the excited woman, who was caught somewhere between even more giggling, and even more sobbing. Her cheeks didn't need the rouge, and he barely took notice of the mascara, instead just focusing on the blue of her eyes. He combed her hair back, unable to stop more of his own tears from falling.

"My dear, sweet, darling Emily," he whispered.

"You still have to say, 'I love you too,' y'know."

After placing a kiss (or two, or three) to Emily's forehead, he said, looking into her eyes, "I love you, too."

Emily was bubbling, putting her own swift kiss on to Arthur's lips. "I'm happy you're home," she said, interlocking her fingers with Arthur's.

Arthur grinned, a few more of what would become many more tears deciding to go the way of the others. "I'm glad to be home."

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><p>END<p> 


End file.
